The Gloaming

By J.R. Schuyler

Three friends. Seven years. Countless dangers.

Wraiths are evil. At least, that's what Billy's father says. Billy isn't sure what to believe—until a chance encounter thrusts him into a world filled with magic, friendship, and crushing oppression.

The wraiths are caught in a tug-of-war they can't win. Their beloved homeland has been devastated by King Grigoth, a tyrant who will stop at nothing to keep his citizens in line. If they return, they'll be starved and enslaved. If they stay on Earth, they'll risk losing their magical heritage and falling victim to human cruelty.

With no way to outrun the growing threats, Billy and his friends have two choices: learn to fight back, or pay the ultimate price...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucid Prose Publishing
• Release date: Oct 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780473491475

J.R. Schuyler

J.R. Schuyler is a freelance copy editor who lives in the land of the long white cloud. When she isn't writing, she enjoys studying psychology, playing guitar, and spending time with her pet rabbit.

Book preview

PART ONE

August 11, 2013

Chapter One

It came with a strong wind on All Hallows’ Eve and again for a thousand moons thereafter. The lesser-educated among Morton’s citizens spun frightful tales of a shadow monster with crimson eyes and claws more than two feet in length. The scholars spurned their words, publicly declaring them to be nothing more than the fanciful imaginings of youth. But in the privacy of their homes, even the scholars tossed and turned and whimpered in their sleep, haunted by phantasms of a creature they knew was all too real.

Billy Porter shivered and burrowed deeper under his blankets as raindrops beat against the tin roof. He was ten years old today—quite old enough for his own room, thank you very much. After months of whining, his parents had finally, if reluctantly, granted his request. The small space only allowed for a wire-frame bed and a moth-eaten dresser, but he treasured it nonetheless.

"Don’t open the curtains after dusk, his mother had warned, handing him a brass candelabra. Light the candles if you need to, but don’t turn on the lights or go near the window under any circumstances."

The candelabra stood on his dresser now, casting ghostly shadows across the bedroom. He’d lit the candles at nightfall, but the sullen flames were no match for the howling wind that seeped through the tiny gaps in the window sash. The light had flickered and died, but the faint odor of smoke lingered on.

I’ve got to be brave, Billy told himself firmly. He pulled the covers up to his eyes and peered into the all-encompassing darkness. I can’t go crying to Mom every time I hear a scary noise. I’m not a baby anymore.

If Mother Nature heard his thoughts, she interpreted them as a challenge. Wind whipped the house with increased intensity, lifting garden furniture and hurling it against the weatherboards. A child living in any other part of Kansas would assume a tornado was on its way and make haste for the storm cellar. Things were different in Morton. Here, the raging gales were a sign that something far worse was coming.

A faint snick met Billy’s ear, and he jumped out of his skin. Dark shapes flitted behind the curtain, performing an unnatural puppet show. He squeezed his eyes shut. I can’t do this. The monster’s right outside. It’s going to eat me, I just know it. I’ve got to get out!

The pressure in his chest grew until he realized he’d forgotten to keep breathing. The resulting inrush of air came as a bittersweet relief. Sweet because he was no longer on the verge of fainting; bitter because he still had to deal with whatever lay in wait.

Two minutes passed before Billy dared to make his move. He peeked out from under the blankets, wide eyes fixed on the silhouette at the window. Its jerky movements reminded him of the skydancer at Foley’s Gas Station. The accompanying squeal of claws on glass sounded like something out of a horror movie. He threw off the blankets and made a blind dash for the door. The metal handle struck the center of his palm, and he wrenched it open. He risked a glance over his shoulder, heart thudding. It’s gone. It must be looking for another way in.

Spurred into action, Billy tiptoed past the room he used to share with his two younger brothers. James and Hamish could sleep through anything, be it a thunderstorm or a rock concert, but he didn’t want to risk being the exception to the rule. As long as they stayed put, their boarded-up windows would keep them safe. In theory, anyway.

Billy shuffled into the kitchen without turning on the lights. His mother’s warnings echoed through his brain. The monster’s attracted to electric lights. It senses these things. It knows…

He shivered, rubbing his arms with both hands. Nightfall sent local temperatures plummeting by at least eighty degrees Fahrenheit, even at the height of summer. Mr. Graham, Morton Elementary’s science teacher, claimed it was due to climate change. Billy wanted to believe him, but his father insisted the whole thing was a load of rot. The real cause, he insisted, was those demons from out East. Confused, but too afraid to question him, Billy accepted the explanation and let the words rattle around his head when he couldn’t sleep.

Where are the matches? Billy whispered. Mom usually keeps them in the top drawer, but we used the last box to light my candles. There’s got to be spares somewhere.

He fumbled with the cupboard doors one by one and reached inside. Unable to see in the dark, he let his hands do the work. A stack of porcelain plates and a glass mixing bowl met his fingertips. He explored a bit farther, feeling along the shelf until he found a rectangular object. A mousetrap? He pulled back in alarm. Even with his quick reflexes, it nearly flayed the skin off his hand.

No matches here, he thought, wincing. Is it even worth finding them? If I relight the candles, the wind will just blow them out again.

Theoretically, he could block the gap in the window with an old T-shirt, but that would require going near the window in the first place—an action that, aside from being expressly forbidden, was too terrifying to even consider.

I’ll have to sleep on the sofa tonight, Billy decided, abandoning his search. I don’t want to go back to my room with that monster creeping around, and I’m too old to crawl into my parents’ bed. I’ll sneak back at dawn. Before my brothers get up.

The more he thought about it, the more confident he felt. He closed the cupboard doors and padded down the hallway, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards outside his parents’ room. The lounge door was ajar, which gave Billy pause. His mother always closed it before she retired to bed. He tiptoed toward the door, fear creeping back into his chest. His parents’ hushed voices emanated from inside.

I used to think Bowers was a respectable fella, Mr. Porter rasped, his Texan drawl more pronounced than usual. Billy froze, not wanting to miss a word. ‘Course, now we know he’s one of them. Why else would he let those two devil spawn join the police? Answer me that one, eh?

You’re letting your imagination get away with you, Jerry, Mrs. Porter replied. If Chief Bowers thinks they can help, then maybe it’s for the best.

‘Course they can help! They’re in on it, aren’t they? We didn’t have no monsters before the wraiths came, and after they showed up, boom! Monsters. Their little pet is tearing this town apart. We oughta do something about it.

The monster?

The wraiths! If we kill ‘em all, maybe their pet will go away too.

A coughing, spluttering fit came over Mr. Porter, followed by short, breathy wheezing. He’d developed a bad case of bronchitis the previous winter, and it never went away. Every time he got worked up about something, he coughed until his eyes watered, and his face grew redder than a tomato.

You need to calm down, Mrs. Porter said. You’ll wake the children with the way you’re carrying on.

There’s too much excitement in this town, he said between gasps. I’ve got a rifle and a night vision scope in the gun safe. A couple hours’ hunting and we can live in peace again.

Mrs. Porter’s voice hardened. You want to murder innocent children?

"Nothing innocent about ‘em. They’d do the same to us if we gave ‘em half a chance. Let me guess. You want to get a government man in to do everything nice and proper. Well, sweetheart, we’ve already tried that. Ol’ Winston sent a petition to the White House and you know what they gave us? A bunch of white coats. Head shrinks. To them, we’re nothing more than a bunch of superstitious backcountry hicks in league with the UFO nuts. They ain’t gonna do nothing to help us. Meanwhile, those things are terrorizing our neighborhood."

Jerry…

"I mean, they’re not even human, are they?"

Another coughing fit seized his body, and this time, he kept spluttering for several minutes.

You really need to get that cough checked out, Mrs. Porter said, the frown evident in her voice. What will happen to us if you come down with pneumonia?

It’s just… just bronchitis. Don’t you fuss over me.

If you say so. Where’s your inhaler?

I must have left it in the study. I don’t need it… I don’t want…

I’ll get it for you. If you keep this up, no one in this house will be able to sleep tonight.

The sound of muted footsteps brought Billy rushing back to the present. She’s coming! I’ve got to hide! But where?

The clothes tree at the end of the hall looked promising. He dove behind his mother’s faux-fur coat mere seconds before the lady herself opened the lounge door. She passed him in a blur of pink, unlocked the study, and went in. Before he could so much as think about moving, she exited with the inhaler and returned to the lounge. Billy sighed in relief. She’d been too focused on her ailing husband to notice her eldest son’s presence.

Billy freed himself from the coat and crept over to the study. He’d been forbidden from entering without supervision, but a wild new idea took hold of him and he ignored the rule.

The gun safe…

Mrs. Porter had left the keys on the desk, right next to the keyboard. Easy pickings, as long as he didn’t get caught. Without hesitation, Billy unlocked the safe. LED strips lined the interior, illuminating the plethora of firearms crammed inside. Billy reached for a gleaming revolver, then paused, listening for any hint of danger. Other than his parents’ muted voices, he heard nothing.

Sucking in a deep breath, Billy took the revolver and hid it in the waistband of his pajama pants. His father wouldn’t miss it. He had two more exactly like it, and he preferred to use a rifle anyway. Now I just need some ammo. Dad usually keeps it in the other safe, but I don’t know the combination for the lock. Maybe I can find some lying around his office instead.

A few minutes of quiet searching turned up a handful of suitable bullets. Billy took them and crept down the hallway. His parents still occupied the lounge, but the gun gave him the courage to return to his room. If the monster dared to show its face, he’d take it down. I’ll be a hero! And Dad might give up on his plan to shoot the wraith kids!

None of the adults seemed to like the wraiths, but Billy couldn’t understand why. Sure, they looked a little strange, and they had funny names, but most of them minded their own business. If he could take out this monster, whatever it was, then things might settle down for a while. Life might return to a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, Billy inched the door open to his room. He half-expected the monster to jump out at him, but the attack never came. He shuffled inside and shut the door with a quiet click. The bullets were heavy in his hands. I should have loaded the gun before I came in here. Heart racing, he found the courage to look at the window. The monster hadn’t returned.

It’s probably moved on to another house, Billy thought. That’s what it always does. I could turn on the light to bring it back, but Mom and Dad would have a fit if they noticed. I’ll lie down and see what happens. If it doesn’t come back, there’s always tomorrow.

He bundled himself into bed, grateful for the warmth his blankets provided. The chamber of the revolver popped open, and he placed the bullets inside. For a moment, he thought about cradling it in his arms as he slept so he’d be ready if the monster came back. Even through his drowsy fear, though, his father’s lecture on gun safety came back to him.

"You’ll blow your own head open if you keep it under your pillow, he’d said. Better to keep it on your nightstand with the safety on."

Billy hadn’t expected to need the advice, but he was grateful for it now. He placed the gun on the dresser, keeping his eyes fixed on the curtains. Anxious seconds dragged into uneventful minutes, and as the minutes stretched into hours, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Two

A distant crash roused Billy from his slumber. He leapt out of bed, fumbling for the revolver. After a couple of heart-stopping moments, his gaze fell on the beige curtains and the golden sunbeams splayed across them. The blessed unexpectedness of dawn brought him back to the present, sucking the night’s terror out of him like poison from a wound.

Mrs. Porter’s sing-song voice echoed down the hallway. Wakey, wakey, boys! Time to get up!

All thoughts of the shadow monster vanished in the face of a more imminent danger. Billy yanked open the top drawer of his dresser and shoved the revolver inside, burying it amidst the rumpled T-shirts, holey socks, and patched-up jeans. He shuddered to think what would happen if his mother saw the gun. It’ll be worse than a grounding, that’s for sure.

Mrs. Porter rapped her knuckles against his bedroom door and entered without waiting for a response. Billy, time to… Oh! You’re already up. Breakfast in ten minutes? I’m making pancakes.

Sounds great, Mom, Billy said. His heart hammered when she gave the dresser a cursory glance.

"Well, it is the first day of school. You deserve something special."

She left the room, shutting the door behind her, and Billy fell flat on his bed. That was close. I need to get the gun out of here as soon as I can. If the monster doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll put it back in Dad’s safe. That or try to find a better hiding spot.

When his heart stopped racing, Billy grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom for a quick shower. He hated showers. The tepid water dribbling from the nozzle did nothing to warm him up in winter or cool him off in summer. It didn’t even get all the shampoo out of his hair. The only benefit of showering, as far as he could tell, was that it kept his mother happy.

He returned to his room with two minutes to spare—long enough to get his things ready for school. His books, decorated with cut-outs of action heroes, sat in a neat pile beside his brand-new satchel.

"Backpacks are lame, he’d informed his mother when they went shopping for school supplies. Everyone else wears a satchel."

"They’re bad for your back," she’d retorted.

"But Mom—"

"If the kid wants a satchel, let him have a satchel, Mr. Porter cut in. They last longer than backpacks anyway."

In the end, his mother gave in, and he became the proud owner of a plain black messenger bag. It might not be as fancy as the ones he’d seen at school, but it would help him to fit in.

And that’s all that really matters, Billy mused.

He shoved his books inside, along with his new pencil case and a shoebox of toy soldiers. Several soldiers escaped the loose-lidded box, but he made no move to put them back inside. He’d bought them specifically for his summer project on the civil war, intending to glue them to a hand-drawn map of the battlefield. Unfortunately, his brothers had wanted to play with them first, and he wouldn’t be able to put the finishing touches on his project until he got to school.

Billy carried his satchel to the front door, then backtracked to the lounge. Mr. Porter leaned forward in his chair, pawing at the laces of his work boots. His hawk-like eyes locked on to Billy’s face.

Finished your breakfast already? he asked.

Not yet. I need to get my poster for class presentations.

Well, you’d better be quick about it. The foreman needs me on-site at eight-thirty sharp. If you ain’t ready, you’ll have to walk.

Okay, Dad.

Billy walked to the bookcase and stretched as high as he could. With the tips of his fingers, he grabbed a sheet of A3 paper from the top shelf. Green pencil lines covered most of the map section, showing the borders of Morton as they existed today. Black circles showed where major historical battles took place. He’d spent hours poring over old newspapers to make it as accurate as possible.

I bet even Ms. Clemmons doesn’t know about the Battle of Turnpike Hill, he thought.

Mr. Porter cleared his throat, and all thoughts of self-congratulation faded from Billy’s mind. He carried the poster to his satchel, rolling it up as he walked, and tucked it into the side pocket.

Billy! James! Hamish! Pancakes are ready.

The smell of fresh batter and maple syrup wafted into Billy’s nostrils, and he hurried to his seat at the kitchen counter. His younger brothers raced into the room soon after, clad in their pajamas.

What am I going to do with you two? Mrs. Porter shook her head at their disheveled appearance. You can’t go to school like that.

I guess we’ll have to stay home instead, James teased, taking a bite of his pancakes. Mmm, these are really good. Thanks, Mom.

Mrs. Porter refused to be distracted from her crusade. I’ll dress you myself if I have to.

James grimaced. I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Soon as I finish eating. Promise.

Do we have to go to school, Mommy? Hamish asked.

Billy leaned over and ruffled the boy’s hair in sympathy. ‘Course we do. How else are we supposed to get a good job when we grow up?

But what if the monster catches us?

Mrs. Porter crossed the kitchen in four short strides and wrapped her arms around him. Sweetie, I’ve told you before. The monster only comes out at night.

What if it makes the sun go down early?

The monster doesn’t have any control over the sun, darling. She released Hamish and pointed at the window above the sink. Look, isn’t it a beautiful day outside? Lots of sun, no wind, and no monsters.

In spite of himself, Billy looked too. It was a beautiful day—far too nice to waste sitting indoors for hours on end. Hey, tell you what, Hamish. How about we go to the park after school and get some ice cream?

The sniffling stopped. You mean it?

Sure! Billy said. He’d learned early on that ice cream was the cure to all ills where Hamish was involved. I got some birthday money from Gran. You can have any flavor you like.

Can I have ice cream too? James asked.

Billy shrugged. If you want.

James whooped excitedly and tore off down the hallway to get dressed. Flashing Billy a thankful smile, Mrs. Porter collected their empty plates and rinsed them in the sink. Playing the big brother role exhausted Billy sometimes, but he loved it all the same. Taking responsibility made him feel grown-up—like he could deal with anything. In a town like Morton, that kind of confidence couldn’t be taken for granted.

You boys ready yet? Mr. Porter barked, striding in from the lounge.

Billy gave him a mock salute. Yes, sir.

"At least someone is. Hamish, you ain’t even dressed yet. Chop, chop. And tell James to get a move on while you’re at it."

The clock read 8:28 a.m. by the time they were ready to go. They piled into the back of the pickup, with Billy taking the middle seat to prevent the younger boys from fighting.

Mr. Porter started the engine, grumbling all the while. I’m gonna be late for work again. The foreman’ll just have to deal with it, won’t he? Serves him right for being late with my paycheck.

Billy never knew what to say when his father started ranting, so he chose to stay quiet. Realizing he’d lost his audience, Mr. Porter lapsed into silence too, save for the rattling breaths that signaled an impending coughing fit. Billy hoped the episode wouldn’t be severe enough to send them into the path of oncoming traffic.

Luckily, the rest of the drive passed without incident. They pulled up at the school, and the boys scrambled out of the pickup. Billy slung his new satchel over his shoulder and leaned toward the open passenger window.

Thanks for the ri— he began, but the pickup tore off in a hail of gravel before he could finish his sentence.

The boys went their separate ways at the school gate: Hamish to the kindergarten classroom, James to the third-grade classroom, and Billy to the fifth-grade classroom. Walking to the other side of the school took time, but Billy didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to soak up the community atmosphere. To remember that real life existed outside the walls of his home. Although the school wasn’t perfect, it was the one place in Morton where humans and wraiths coexisted in widespread, if tentative, peace.

His father hated the wraiths, but as far as Billy was concerned, they were just kids like him. Classmates. Playmates, even. They’d been around as long as he could remember. According to Ms. Clemmons, they’d arrived in Morton one hundred years ago and didn’t exist anywhere else on the planet. I bet she made that up. They had to immigrate from somewhere, didn’t they? It’s not like they appeared out of thin air.

He crossed the courtyard in the middle of the school, surprised by the bustle of activity there. Men dressed in white coveralls marched back and forth between a rusted van and the science center, unloading supplies for the semester ahead. A pack of teachers herded bright-eyed children toward their new classrooms. And then there were the wraiths. As always, they took Billy’s breath away.

Darker than any human, their skin resembled a void cut from a starless patch of sky—a black hole, tearing apart the fabric of reality. Insubstantial violet threads rippled through them, forming strange, shimmering runes that glissaded across their skin in a fashion so fleeting it made Billy doubt they existed at all. Most of Morton’s human residents believed they were symbols of the occult, but he wasn’t so sure about that either. The wraiths had never performed any rituals or sacrifices when he was around.

A rough shove brought him back to the present. He fell to the ground, hissing when his bare arms scraped the concrete.

What are you staring at? a harsh voice said.

N-nothing. He squinted up at his attacker, stomach sinking. Leave me alone, Corvus.

The wraith boy paused as if to think, then grabbed the unguarded satchel from Billy’s side. His violet eyes blazed with a mixture of mischief and malevolence.

Well, well, well. What have we got here? Corvus asked. He opened the bag and picked out a plastic soldier. Wittle Billy can’t go to school without his dolls.

They’re not dolls. They’re figurines. It’s for my summer project.

Oh, you mean this? Corvus grabbed the rolled-up poster and unfurled it. Looks like a lame map to me.

Billy jumped to his feet and tried to snatch it, but Corvus pushed him back to the ground. With a smug grin, the wraith boy tore the paper in half and Billy’s heart along with it.

Stop it, Billy said, his voice dangerously close to a whine.

Aw, don’t worry. Maybe you can stick it back together, Corvus cooed. He threw the ripped paper on the ground and pulled out a small bottle. Tell you what. I’ll even give you some superglue to do it.

Toy soldiers flew in all directions as he yanked the box out of Billy’s satchel. Smirking, he tossed the broken lid aside and squeezed glue over the box’s contents. All Billy could do was watch in numb horror while his summer project went up in figurative flames.

Back off, Corvus! someone shouted.

Billy looked up, his eyes swimming with tears. Two of his friends approached from the school gates, their expressions indignant. Zane was the tallest boy in their grade, and despite his lankiness, he presented a terrifying figure when he lost his cool. Murdock jogged after him, holding his glasses on his nose with one hand.

Or what? Corvus taunted.

Or… or I’ll beat you up, Zane stammered.

Corvus craned his neck to scrutinize the boy’s towering form, then dropped the box and glue. Whatever, dude. I could take you on any day.

He sauntered off toward the other wraiths, most of whom were watching the scene unfold with interest. The few who chose to turn away erupted into gales of laughter. It’s the first day of school, and I’ve already been humiliated. Just having a new satchel isn’t good enough. I’ll never be cool! If I hadn’t drawn attention to myself, Corvus would have left me alone.

The wraith group’s mirth gave way to disgust when Corvus came within six feet of them, and they formed a tight circle with their backs to him. Apparently defeated, he slunk off, his head drooping in glum contemplation. Even his own kind don’t like him.

You okay? Murdock asked, crouching next to Billy.

I guess so. He tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice, but his attempts fell flat. My project’s ruined.

That’s too bad. Maybe we can help you fix it?

How?

Billy wanted to be optimistic, but he’d labored over the map for hours. Besides, superglue didn’t come off easily. He’d learned that the hard way when he glued his fingers together in second grade.

Ms. Clemmons has Scotch tape in her classroom, doesn’t she? Murdock cocked his head to one side. We could stick it together with that. I’m not sure what to do about your soldiers, though.

You can peel the glue off when it dries, Zane said. It doesn’t take long if you’ve got scissors. I can help with that.

The bell behind Billy emitted a shrieking tone to announce the start of the school day. He winced, staring at the tattered remains of his summer project.

Thanks, guys.

They worked in silence, picking up the ruined map pieces and freeing the congealed mass of glue and plastic from the concrete. Billy wrinkled his nose and deposited the filthy amalgamation in his brand new satchel. It pained him to risk ruining the leather, but he couldn’t see an alternative. He surveyed the crime scene a final time before they departed for their first day of the new term. His bully was nowhere to be seen.

I may be a loser, Corvus, but at least I’m a loser with friends.

Chapter Three

Shauna, you’re up next, Ms. Clemmons said.

The girl in front of Billy stood up and shuffled to the front, scuffing the carpet with her shoes. He shot her a sympathetic look before returning his attention to the poster on his desk.

I did my summer project on Oilskin Lake, Shauna said. My dad’s an environmental scientist, and he helped me to take samples of the water and test it for contaminants. My results showed…

As interesting as her speech was, Billy found himself unable to concentrate. His mind kept returning to his own plight. Shiny adhesive tape ran down the middle of his poster, giving it the illusion of wholeness. Splotches of dirt clung to the paper, ruining the illusion. Even with his friends’ help, he’d been unable to remove them. Most of the toy soldiers were too damaged to add to the map, so he’d created mini formations out of the few that survived Corvus’s ambush. Speaking of Corvus…

Billy risked a glance over his shoulder. The wraith bully sat at the desk behind him, his body slumped against the wall. He passed a note to the wraith girl behind him, who smiled and scribbled a hasty reply. When she passed it back, Corvus’s lips curved into a smile of his own.

That was very interesting, Shauna. Thank you for sharing with us, Ms. Clemmons said. Billy? You’re up next.

Heart racing, Billy carried his project to the front of the class. Public speaking didn’t scare him, but Corvus’s mocking face turned his stomach inside out.

I did my summer project on the Battle of Turnpike Hill, he began, proud when his voice barely trembled. Not many people know it, but the hill is right next to the library. During the civil war, Morton didn’t exist. The area was just a big open field for everyone to fight in. Over two hundred people died there. I made this map to show where it happened.

He raised the poster, not daring to make eye contact with his classmates. Before anyone could tease him for its marred appearance, he handed it off to Ms. Clemmons and retreated to his desk.

Corvus kicked the back of his chair when he sat down. "Nice going, Billy."

Hmmm, okay. Ms. Clemmons eyed Billy’s project with obvious disappointment. Who’s next? Corvus?

I didn’t do a summer project, Miss, Corvus piped up.

Why not?

I forgot.

Ms. Clemmons tutted at him. You kids are getting more irresponsible every year. Expect a detention on Saturday, Corvus.

But Miss—

You had three months to remember, Ms. Clemmons interrupted, her tone icy. Another word out of you and there’ll be two detentions.

Corvus rolled his eyes and muttered something Billy couldn’t make out.

Ms. Clemmons cleared her throat. Rem? You’re up next, dear.

The wraith girl sitting behind Corvus skipped to the front of the room, still smiling from whatever they’d been talking about. Halfway along, she tripped over her own feet, eliciting giggles from the other kids. Her cheeks blushed lilac.

Rem… So that’s her name.

Billy had spoken with her in passing, and she seemed like a sweet girl. As far as he could tell, she only hung out with a bully like Corvus because the other wraiths shunned her.

I did my summer project on the Monster of Morton, Rem began, sending a shiver down Billy’s spine. As you know, it’s been haunting the town for nearly three years now. Rumors say it’s a giant beast with giant claws to rip people apart. Everyone’s scared of it, but no one’s ever gotten close enough to get a good look at it. We’re all assuming it wants to hurt us, but what if it’s lonely? What if it just wants a friend? Most of the houses in Morton are made of wood, which should be easy for it to destroy. If it really wanted to hurt us, you’d think it would have done it by now. Furthermore—

That’s quite enough, thank you, Ms. Clemmons interrupted. I’m sure you worked hard on your speech, but the topic is inappropriate for the classroom. The monster is dangerous. I don’t want anyone to get the idea it’s safe to try and make friends with it.

But—

Enough, Ms. Clemmons repeated firmly. The bell rang, signaling the end of school. No one dared to leave their seats. We’ll finish the presentations tomorrow morning, starting with Zane. Billy, stay behind. I want to talk to you.

"Good luck, Billy," Corvus sneered. He gave the seat another savage kick before sauntering out the door.

Billy winced as the action jolted his spine, but he didn’t say anything. Fighting back would get him suspended, and then his father would be on his case. He stayed seated while the other students filed out, accepting the sympathetic looks they gave him. When the door finally swung shut, he joined Ms. Clemmons at her desk.

Billy Porter, she intoned.

Yes, Miss?

Do you want to tell me what’s going on between you and Corvus?

There’s nothing going on.

Really?

Yeah. He kicked my chair a few times by accident.

It didn’t look like an accident to me, Ms. Clemmons prompted. When no response was forthcoming, she continued. There’s also the matter of your summer project.

Billy cringed when she fished it out of the pile. Dried glue crumbled off the paper in small chunks, and one of the toy soldiers lay abandoned on the desk.

I dropped it on the way to school, he lied.

"Dropping a piece of paper doesn’t make it tear down the middle. Billy, I know something happened, but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. Did Corvus do this?"

Yeah, but I don’t need your help. I can handle him.

I’m sure you can, but sometimes it’s better to get an adult involved. You’re not the only person he’s bullied. Corvus’s dad is a policeman, and I can guarantee he’ll take a hard line with him. He’s done it before, and it straightened Corvus out for a few months.

He went back to being mean, though.

Unfortunately, yes. It takes time for people to change. A long time, in some cases.

Billy thought about it. What do I have to do?

You don’t have to do anything. I’ll call his dad and have a chat with him. If things stay the same, you might have to make a formal statement.

A formal statement? Billy’s heart sank.

It’s very unlikely it would come to that, Ms. Clemmons added upon seeing his petrified expression. Seisan is a strict man. If there’s one good thing to say about the wraiths, it’s that they take these things seriously. It’s an insult to their honor or something like that.

Oh.

Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Ms. Clemmons stood and wiped her hands on her dress. Go on home and enjoy your afternoon.

Thanks, Ms. Clemmons. I will.

Billy all but sprinted out of the classroom, desperate to escape the stifling atmosphere. James and Hamish sat on the stairs outside, drumming their heels against the concrete.

What did Ms. Lemons want? Hamish asked.

Clemmons, not Lemons, Billy corrected. She just wanted to talk to me about my summer project. No big deal. Come on, let’s go get some ice cream.

Now you’re talking! James said. He skipped ahead of them, eager to reach Morton Park and its ever-present ice cream truck.

The park was less than half a mile away, but the scenery in between made Billy uneasy. Distracted by the promise of food, his brothers didn’t notice the problem. It was probably just as well. Strips of wood had been sloughed off the houses, leaving gouges in the shape of giant claws.

The giant claws of a monster, Billy thought. Whatever Rem was talking about in class, she was wrong. The monster doesn’t want a friend. Friends don’t try to break into each other’s houses.

Chapter Four

An hour before the town-wide curfew, Billy stumbled through the front door with his brothers in tow. Heaving gasps rocked his chest, and he leaned over, hands on his knees, in a vain attempt to regain control of his breathing.

Mrs. Porter rushed over, her face pale with fright. What’s the matter?

When he didn’t immediately respond, she gave him a once-over for signs of injury. Finding none, she straightened and held his gaze in anxious anticipation.

Nothing, Billy said between gasps. It was starting to get dark, and Hamish thought the monster might come out. He made us run all the way home, just in case.

Hamish nodded, eyes wide. I thought I saw it behind a tree.

Oh, don’t be silly, love. It was probably just a dog, Mrs. Porter said. Go and get washed up for dinner, okay? Your father will be home any minute.

Okay, Mom, the boys chorused.

While the younger two fought over the bathroom, Billy retreated to his room and dumped his satchel on the floor. The sight of his moth-eaten dresser reminded him of the previous night’s events, and he instinctively slid open the top drawer. The gun’s still there. They haven’t noticed yet.

Giddy, he lowered himself onto his bed. The final dregs of daylight filtered through the windows, creating dusky silhouettes on the wall—a harbinger of the darkness to come and the monster’s impending return. His whole body ached from running, which wasn’t ideal for what he had planned. Fortunately, the worst of the pain confined itself to his calf muscles. It wouldn’t prevent him from wielding the revolver with deadly force. Of course, if the monster decided to chase him…

No. I’m not going to think about that, Billy told himself. I’ll enjoy my dinner and watch MacGyver reruns with Mom and Dad. I won’t start worrying until the monster actually gets here.

Billy! Dinner!

Groaning, he stood up again. His feet protested the action, sending waves of discomfort up his legs. His father said that people felt the effects of exercise more keenly as they got older, but he’d assumed that was for really old people, not ten-year-old kids. He shuffled to the dining table and took the unoccupied seat between his brothers.

I’m starving, Mr. Porter declared. He’d mashed his food together during Billy’s absence and loaded his fork with the resulting mixture. It’s your turn to say grace, James.

The middle sibling folded his hands on the table and closed his eyes in fierce concentration. Thank you, God, for the food on our table. We pray that you will bless it and also protect us from the monster. Amen.

Amen, Billy repeated. Never before had his brother’s candid prayer seemed more appropriate. His mother’s exasperated expression told him she didn’t agree.

Did you have to mention the monster, James? Why can’t we have a nice family meal without thinking about horrible things like that?

James shrugged, his cheeks already bulging with food. Shaking her head, Mrs. Porter picked up her fork and stabbed a chunk of potato.

The food was plain and unseasoned, but it was hot and there was plenty of it. Billy demolished his first plate load in less than ten minutes. Halfway through his second helping, the doorbell buzzed in an urgent, staccato pattern.

That better be Phillip with my paycheck, Mr. Porter grumbled, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

The front door squealed when he opened it, and Billy strained to see who stood outside. The position of the table stopped him from seeing anything beyond the scowl on his father’s face.

"You," Mr. Porter said, his tone dripping with revulsion.

Me, the stranger agreed. The deep, unaccented voice provided a stark contrast to his father’s Texan drawl. I’ve come to talk to your son, Billy. If that would be agreeable to you, of course.

Well, it’s not, Mr. Porter spat. Your kind ain’t welcome in my house. I don’t care what Chief Bowers says. And you’re not talking to my son neither. The last thing I need is for you to poison his mind with your wraith apologist nonsense.

Wraiths? Billy perked up and lowered his fork. Maybe it’s Corvus’s dad.

He swallowed the last of his food and went to the door, curious to see what an adult wraith looked like up close. He never saw them walking around town, except for the two who worked as honorary police officers. He’d thought about approaching them before, but he always chickened out. Policemen unnerved him at the best of times.

It’s okay, Dad. I’ll talk to him, Billy offered.

You’ll do no such thing, Mr. Porter said. "Get back to the table, boy. Unless you want to be sacrificed to their little pet."

I’ll take the risk, Billy said, wincing when an angry vein popped out of his father’s forehead. He gave the visitor an apologetic smile. We can talk on the porch.

Mr. Porter stomped inside, a murderous glint in his eye. His wife guided him back to the dining table, but he kept gazing at his office, no doubt wondering if he could get away with shooting the man outside.

Billy stepped into the cool evening air, keeping the door wide open in case his father’s dire warnings came true.

So, you’re Billy, the wraith said, peering down at him. My name is Seisan. I’m Corvus’s father. How do you do?

Billy gazed up at him, disoriented. Seisan’s height mirrored the average human male’s, but the scale of him seemed wrong. Compared to the younger wraiths, he looked like he’d been stretched too thin for his body.

I’m fine, thanks, Billy answered.

I’m glad to hear it. Seisan smiled, baring a set of violet teeth that glowed under the porch security lights. I wanted to apologize to you personally for my son’s behavior. It was completely uncalled for, and I’ve taken steps to prevent it from happening again.

Oh. Um… thanks.

Corvus will apologize to you tomorrow, and that should be the end of the matter. If he forgets his place again, please let me know. A school should be a place of learning, not of misanthropy.

Mis-what? Billy thought. This guy talks like he’s reading an essay.

He nodded in spite of his confusion, unconsciously backing toward the doorway. I should go before my dad gets any angrier. Thanks for coming all this way to apologize.

You’re most welcome, Seisan said. I was already patrolling the area, so it was no trouble.

Billy tried to step inside, but his mother blocked the way. Her grease-stained apron billowed in the fledgling wind.

You’re patrolling out here? she asked Seisan, resting one hand on the door jamb.

Yes, ma’am. Seisan dipped his head in a little bow. We’ve had reports that the monster frequents this area more than any other. We hope to catch it tonight.

Hah! was Mr. Porter’s contribution from the kitchen.

I wish you the best of luck with that, Officer, Mrs. Porter said, offering the wraith a tight-lipped smile. I’m sorry about my husband.

Not to worry. I’ve gotten used to it over the years.

Mr. Porter stomped over, his eyes blazing. Don’t apologize, Marge. He deserves everything coming to him. How many months have you freaks been trying and failing to catch that monster? I know you’re in on it.

The corner of Seisan’s mouth quirked upward in apparent amusement. Us ‘freaks,’ as you so eloquently put it, are stretched thin with more serious cases. As for catching the monster, you would do well to remember that the team in charge is predominantly comprised of your own species. That is to say, humans.

I know what my own species is! Mr. Porter shouted. And you! You call yourself a wraith, but I know what you are: a demon from the deepest depths of hell. Get off my land or I’ll call the real cops!

No need, sir, Seisan said, bowing. I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Billy, Mrs. Porter… Good evening to you both.

The wraith turned on his heel and glided like a shadow into the cover of darkness. Billy stared after him, trying to convince himself his visitor hadn’t vanished into thin air.

If I ever see that freak on my property again, I’ll make him wish he never left the stinking pit he crawled out of, Mr. Porter growled.

He yanked Billy inside by the collar of his shirt and slammed the door. Billy yelped in surprise, hands scrabbling at the taut fabric around his neck.

There’s no need to talk like that, Mrs. Porter said. What if he heard you?

Who cares if he did? Mr. Porter scoffed. He’s not even a real cop. There ain’t a single person in this town who would convict me if he wound up dead.

I would, Mrs. Porter said, crossing her arms. I didn’t marry a murderer. And let go of Billy. You’re hurting him.

Blinking, Mr. Porter noticed his hand was still bunched in his son’s shirt. He released his grip, and Billy rubbed his neck. It hadn’t been physically painful. Not really. The unexpectedness of it upset him more than anything else.

I don’t want you to hurt him either, Billy murmured. He shrank back when his father laughed—a great booming chuckle that grated on his ears.

‘Course you don’t. You’re only a kid. Mr. Porter mussed his hair playfully. You’ll understand when you grow up.

The only one who needs to grow up around here is you, Mrs. Porter cut in, glaring daggers at her husband. "I’ve had enough of this unpleasantness. Billy, go and see if MacGyver is on yet."

Billy glanced back and forth between them, sensing the rising tide of enmity but powerless to stop it.

One more reason to kill the monster tonight, he thought as he scampered off to obey his mother. I can save the wraith kids. I can save Seisan. And if I’m lucky, I can stop Mom and Dad from fighting too.

Chapter Five

Midnight came and went with a silence only the dead can understand. The monster-driven wind remained absent for so long that Billy wondered if Seisan’s plan, by some miracle, had actually worked. His eyelids drifted shut, but the quiet outside was anything but peaceful. After dealing with Morton’s strange weather phenomena for so long, normality no longer felt normal or safe. He lay awake for hours, unable to move or do anything except listen to his family's rattling snores.

A little after 2:00 a.m., a whistle and an almighty crash jolted him out of bed, and the stillness of the night shattered into frantic, whirling gusts of air. It’s here. The monster’s here.

Trembling with fear and excitement, Billy grabbed the revolver from his dresser. It felt light in his hands, as though the bullets had spontaneously disappeared. He released the cylinder to check. Six openings. Six bullets.

He breathed a sigh of relief and closed the cylinder. He knew he’d loaded it the previous night, but as his old man always said, it was better to be paranoid and alive than overconfident and dead.

The advice had been passed on during one of their many hunting trips, right before they forded a river for the first time. Billy almost smiled at the memory but caught himself and grimaced. His current venture was nothing like a hunting trip. For one thing, deer never fought back. The chances of the monster extending the same courtesy were slim to none.

Realizing his feet were still glued to the spot, Billy forced himself to inch closer to the forbidden window. The silky curtains billowed out as if they were struggling to contain an unseen force, and he would have ground to a petrified halt if not for the revolver. It’s not a ghost. It’s just the wind. You know that. The monster is the only thing you need to worry about. Focus on the monster.

He crept to the window and drew back the curtain. Flying objects flashed across his field of vision before he could identify them, propelled by the raging winds. No monster revealed itself amidst the chaos. He backed toward the door of his room, unsure whether to summon his foe or flee to the safety of the hallway. His fingers hovered over the light switch for an indeterminate length of time before he committed to turning it on. The accompanying click made him shudder. I just signed my own death warrant.